Colt sat alone in his room, surrounded by toys scattered across the floor. His favorite—a small, dirty bear with one ear missing—lay beside him. His hands moved slowly, deliberately, over its worn fabric. Colt liked the bear. He liked how it never asked him questions, never looked at him like the others did. He felt safe with it, even if it smelled like dust and old rubber.
One night, something changed. He'd been lying in bed, the soft glow of the moon filtering through his window, when he heard it. A slight movement. A squeak. Colt's eyes flickered open. He sat up, his heart racing. It wasn't just the wind this time. Something had moved in his room.
The bear—no, it wasn't a bear anymore. It was… something else. Its eyes, which had once been stitched on crookedly, now seemed to blink at him. It twitched, then stretched out its legs and stood.
"Colt," it whispered.
His breath caught in his throat. He rubbed his eyes. The bear was gone. But then, something touched his hand. He looked down. The doll of a little girl, her face cracked, smiled up at him.
"You look sad," it said. "Don't be sad."
Colt pulled his hand back, eyes wide. He had to be dreaming. It had to be a dream. The toys couldn't talk. They couldn't move. His heart thudded against his ribs. But when he looked around, they were all there—his trucks, the army men, the dolls. They were all standing, blinking at him.
It happened every night after that. His toys didn't just stay in their places anymore. They moved. They whispered to him in the dark. Sometimes, they even laughed. They told him they were his friends now, that they'd always be there.
Colt didn't tell anyone. He didn't need to. The toys didn't judge him the way others did. They didn't care that he was different. Slowly, one by one, they'd come to him. Each toy, in its own time, would crawl to his bed or sit by his side, talking to him like he was special.
And Colt liked that. They kept him company. They made him feel wanted. No one else did.
But something was wrong. His parents didn't seem to notice the toys moving. They never saw the eyes that followed Colt around, or the whispers that became louder when he was near. Colt's room felt… too quiet. Too still, even with his toys moving around him.
One morning, Colt's mother went into his room, expecting him to be playing. But Colt wasn't there. His bed was empty, the toys scattered across the floor as usual.
She screamed when she saw it.
In the corner of the room, next to his dresser, was Colt. But it wasn't Colt. It couldn't have been. He wasn't breathing. His skin was stiff. His eyes were glassy.
He had been turned into one of them.
It was the bear. Colt's favorite. Now, it wore his clothes, his shoes. Its face was warped with a strange, sad smile.
And in its hand, it held a note.
"Thank you for being my friend," it said.